


Feedback Loop

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, G - White Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2019-01-20 20:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Communication is key in all things.





	Feedback Loop

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written during the day that S2.08 was to air. I wasn't dealing well with it. Spoilers through S2.02.  


* * *

The radio wasn't working again.

 

 

Well, it _was_. Sort of. There was static coming from it, which was something. Sam shook it a few times; at first tentatively, then increasing in urgency.

 

 

The orange tape had begun to peel back and was barely holding the poor thing together. He hadn't had a single intelligible noise from what he believed was the real world since he'd last heard Maya tell him goodbye. Occasionally there'd be this weird howling noise, a sort of high-pitched wailing, squealing thing. A bit like accidentally aiming your mic at your speaker stack whilst playing your guitar. If you were into that sort of thing.

 

 

He'd been feeling all manners of trapped recently, including and especially when he was watching everyone he cared about (even if they were all only in his head) as though they were on the telly. Later, he came to realise this was just how he'd dealt with being trapped in his own head, although he still couldn't work out how he'd managed to have two-way communication with all of them. Marvellous thing, that.

 

 

Unless, of course, it was because he was really outside all this, watching them watching him watching them watching him watching everyone watching him....

 

 

It was all too much. Too dizzying. Too horrifyingly giddy. Or giddily horrifying. It was a fantastic show, the best show...and he didn't want it to end. But of course, it had to. 

 

 

The howling emanating from the radio got louder and louder and more ear-piercingly shrill, until it resembled nothing so much as a heartrate monitor flatlining.


End file.
